


Season's Eating

by rosa_lunae



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League - All Media Types, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth Ships It, Christmas Fluff, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gift Giving, Holidays, Mostly fluff though, Wonderbat, Wonderbat Secret Santa 2019, minor angst and holiday grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:36:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21997633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_lunae/pseuds/rosa_lunae
Summary: Diana and Bruce explore holiday traditions and Alfred knows everything somehow.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51





	Season's Eating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LOTSlover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LOTSlover/gifts).



> Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas, friends! 
> 
> I have to say, when I first got my name for the 2019 Wonderbat Secret Santa Event, I was incredibly intimidated. Anyone who even briefly entered the Wonderbat fandom knows and loves the stories of this prolific and talented writer! Some of her stories were ones that inspired me to write Coming Home, and when I did, and she began leaving reviews for it, I thought the fan-girl squees I let loose would deafen my entire neighborhood. Her reviews encouraged me so much.
> 
> I am hopeful that this little piece can serve as a thank you to a writer I admire, and bring a smile during a sacred time of year for so many. And while it’s late, I’m Episcopalian, so we celebrate Christmas until January 6th, so there you go. ;-) 
> 
> This one's for you, Lotsy!
> 
> NOTE: This story is loosely set in the animated Justice League/Justice League Unlimited universe.

**Season's Eating**

Ever since the destruction of the Watchtower and the subsequent (if temporary) relocation of the Martian Manhunter and the Amazon princess, Alfred Pennyworth, as all good butlers did, watched and waited. The perfect moment to be of service always appeared, and Alfred had always been particularly timely.

The fall passed without any usual developments. The occupants of Wayne Manor continued about their normal routines as best they could while sharing space with one another. Diana and J’onn engaged in their own solo or team missions from the Justice League. Bruce, as usual, blew off missions that didn’t seem to require his presence or expertise in order to terrorize the criminals of Gotham into police custody. The four of them occasionally shared a meal together, but due to Bruce’s erratic schedule of work, work, and maybe sleep, and J’onn’s tendency toward solitary meditation, Alfred found himself spending a significant amount with the Princess of Themyscira.

They were both early risers by nature, and a morning ritual of sharing a hot beverage and breakfast in the morning room evolved. As the weeks passed, Diana arrived to the morning room earlier and earlier, intending to learn how to prepare the dishes Alfred offered her so she could be of service to him in return.

At first, Alfred balked. He unfailingly referred to her as ‘Your Highness’ and of all his current charges, she was the one it was most proper for him to serve. But when she framed her request as a request for his help and assistance in her never-ending quest to learn, there was nothing to be done but succumb. And the morning rituals became delightfully cherished by each party.

This time of year offered several opportunities for the princess to learn more about the holiday traditions of many Americans. Most of October, the pair spent their mornings sipping Alfred’s homemade pumpkin spice lattes and preparing various pastries with pumpkin, cinnamon, or other autumn spices. To Alfred’s amusement, the princess didn’t seem to tire of the flavor profile and actually requested to learn some savory dishes featuring the spice as well. Their morning conversations led to discussions about the Day of the Dead and Halloween and various traditions that the princess had not seen up close yet. She was fascinated by the idea of costumes, for example.

So, on the morning of October 31st, Alfred managed to contain his delighted laughter into an amused chuckle when the Princess entered the morning room in a hooded and flowing white dress cinched with a silver belt and her hair styled into unique spirals on each side.

“Princess Leia!” he’d said with an exaggerated bow. “You are most welcome this morning!”

She’d actually giggled-- a sound he hadn’t yet heard her make in all of her stay with them-- and sounded much younger than her many centuries of age. Not a moment after that musical sound had faded from the air, Alfred noted that a third presence was lurking in the doorway that led into the dining room.

“Help, Alfred!” Diana cried, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I want a pumpkin spice latte, and you’re my only hope.”

Alfred laughed heartily this time, and said, “I’m sure Starbucks would disagree, my dear,” but set the cup in front of her anyway. As she put it to her lips--carefully, thinking of the white dress-- that dining room opened and Bruce Wayne walked in, dressed in the black sweats he often changed into after a night patrolling Gotham.

Bruce stared at Alfred before settling his gaze on Diana. Unruffled, she smiled at him over her steaming mug. After a long moment, Bruce said, “Happy Halloween, Princess.”

XXX

As November passed, Batman’s services became even more in need as robberies and violent crimes increased. One morning, as Alfred instructed her on bread making for some loaves that would be used for the rest of the week, Diana wondered aloud about the increasing length and intensity of Batman’s patrols.

“It’s a sad reality that the holiday season, while it is meant to bring joy and peace, often also brings increasing desperation and stress. Good people often resort to making poor choices, sometimes in hopes of doing something good for their family or maybe due to grief or stress. Master Bruce hasn’t often enjoyed this part of the year-- it is darker, colder, and reminds him of what he’s lost.”

Bruce Wayne was a public figure; anyone could read about his parents’ murder on the internet. But Diana, like only a few people in Bruce’s most inner circle, knew how that horrible event had put him on his current path.

The princess lost herself in her thoughts, letting her body take over with kneading the dough. She enjoyed the rhythm and physicality of it, how different doughs had different textures. Bread making had become a particular pleasure of hers, and, as a good butler, Alfred added fresh bread to their morning rotation more and more. She’d wondered, since Halloween, if Bruce would join them in the morning in their preparations and sipping tea, but he was often exhausted or immediately off to make an appearance falling asleep in a Wayne Enterprises board meeting.

Alfred contented himself with plaiting the dough that had already proved, always content to let his royal companion woolgather in peace. Eventually, Diana wondered, “Did Bruce have a particular tradition with his parents for American Thanksgiving?”

Alfred smiled; Diana glanced over at him and didn’t miss the tinge of sadness there.

“Every year since he was old enough to walk on his own, they took him to a different soup kitchen or homeless shelter to serve a meal. While these were events put on by the Wayne Foundation,” Alfred mused, examining his finished plaited loaf and deeming it satisfactory, “they were hardly just a photo op. They helped prepare and then served the food, and stayed until everything was tidied! That’s probably enough kneading for that particular loaf, my dear, so we will let it rest.”

While the plaited loaf baked and the second loaf was left to rise, Diana and Alfred sat at the breakfast nook and sipped hot tea. And as he knew she would, Diana wondered, “Does Bruce still do this on Thanksgiving?”

Alfred said, “No, he is often out patrolling as usual. The Foundation still does the event, but Bruce does not participate and the organizers have long stopped inviting him. I still prepare a traditional meal for him, which he will usually eat for breakfast.”

Diana sipped her tea and let her thoughts wander. Alfred wondered if she’d noticed Bruce peer through the dining room door again on his way up from the cave.

Some weeks later, Diana had enlisted the help of some of Bruce’s allies to mind the scanners because the Bat’s patrol would start later than usual. She’d stopped by the room that J’onn was using the day before Thanksgiving to tell him her plan and invite him, but J’onn smiled and shook his head.

“Thank you, Diana. It is a lovely idea, and I think I will perhaps take on a human form to volunteer at a different shelter, but I think it is best that I not intrude on your plans tonight.”

Diana cocked her head at the Martian, feeling curious about something in his tone that she couldn’t quite place. “Whatever you think is best, J’onn,” she said. “But I know you have been spending a lot of time alone as well--especially when we aren’t on missions. I did not want you to be alone if you did not want to be. Alfred says that this season, especially in America, is about family and friends and togetherness.”

J’onn smiled at her, genuinely warmed with affection for her. Diana, unlike so many beings that he encountered, nearly always said exactly what she was thinking. He found it refreshing to be around someone so open and without deceit. She rarely attempted to shield her thoughts, so he often heard them inadvertently, which he knew did not bother her. Still, since they’d moved into Wayne Manor, he’d accidentally heard a few thoughts that she’d not shared with anyone, involving their enigmatic host.

Bruce, on the other hand, locked his mind and emotions down like a vault; without really invasive use of his powers, J’onn could only passively hear the man’s thoughts when Bruce was agitated.

Which reminded him: “But Diana, I do however have one suggestion: a personal favor, even.”

Diana lit up. “What is it?”

“Perhaps you might consider inviting Bruce to your morning meals with Alfred?”

Maybe then, J’onn thought, I will have some peace for my morning prayers.

“Is that his problem, then,” Diana mused, grinning a little to herself. “I didn’t think he needed an invitation! It is his house after all.”

Based on what he’d accidentally overheard from Bruce’s unguarded mind for the past several week’s worth of mornings, J’onn decided not to comment.

And so it was that on the morning of Thanksgiving, Diana was waiting in the cave when Bruce came in from patrol. He gave only the slightest pause when he noticed her there, then began to divest himself of the bullet proof uniform, starting first with the cowl. “May I help you, Princess?”

Diana watched how he moved and surmised, with relief, that he’d suffered no serious injuries tonight. “Happy Thanksgiving, Bruce,” she said. “Alfred is teaching me how to make a souffle this morning. I’d love it if you joined us for tea.”

Bruce paused in the act of removing his armor. “Souffles for breakfast?”

Diana nodded solemnly. “Of course. Wally informed me that it is customary to indulge in lots of delicious foods on this holiday, so I suggested a dessert. Do you have time?” After a beat, she grinned and said, “It’s chocolate.”

Bruce studied her face, holding her gaze for longer than most people would, out of a natural instinct to break eye contact by looking away. Diana found she didn’t mind and simply waited for him to find his words.

“I’ll be right up,” he said finally. Pleased, Diana nodded, turned on her heel, and left him to change in private.

He entered just in time to hear Alfred teaching Diana how to fold the beaten egg whites into the base without knocking out the air. She’d put an apron over her jeans and cream sweater and had tied her hair back loosely at her neck. He helped himself to tea from the tray and watched them until the souffle had been safely--and carefully-- placed in the oven.

That task done and the timer set, Diana settled into the chair next to Bruce. Before she or Alfred could do it, Bruce poured two cups of tea-- he added a splash of milk to Alfred’s and passed it to him. In Diana’s, he dropped a single sugar cube, stirred it, and passed it to her.

“Thank you,” Diana said, so focused on Bruce that she missed the approving look Alfred offered his surrogate son. “Did you have a busy night?”

Bruce finished a long sip of his own tea, which he left undoctored, and set the cup down on the saucer with enough gentleness to almost look bizarre in such a tall, broad-shouldered man. “Not too bad, really. Most of the big bads are in Arkham, for the moment, so it’s a lot of petty crimes and unrest that add up. Your usual human crimes.”

Alfred hmm’d into his cup in apparent agreement. “Nothing like the mess the Joker tried to pull off just before Halloween, then. I’m glad to hear it.”

“I had it in hand,” Bruce said, in the exasperated tone that hinted at a familiar quarrel. Alfred didn’t quite roll his eyes--too crass--but his answering, “Of course you did, sir” did the job. Diana smiled, amused as the argument took off in playful earnest.

At one point, Bruce said, “Well, Diana didn’t interfere, so she must have had some faith, unlike others who will be unnamed... Clark.”

Diana finished her tea, and Bruce topped her off, even adding the sugar cube himself. “Well, you’ll recall I’d been in Kasnia at the time,” she said. “Clark kept me updated, of course.”

Bruce studied her. “You’ve been here several months now without trying to horn into Gotham with your sword and shield and lasso the crime to a standstill. Even J’onn offered to go on patrol with me a few times, you know.”

Diana indulged herself with a deep inhale as the baking chocolate souffle began to fill the room with a heavenly aroma. She said, “I’d understood from Alfred--and your own insistence at several League meetings over the years--that you don’t prefer metahumans in Gotham.”

“So you just... listened.”

Diana grinned. “I listened.” She studied her nails, then, and continued with, “Besides, it is an assumption I am used to. I might be Wonder Woman, but there are still times when people assume I am less capable of handling myself simply because I am not a man. I don’t like it, not one bit. So I hope I know better than to assume you are less capable simply because you are not a metahuman. Because I know how that feels, and because I know your skills well.”

The surprised silence stretched a few moments.

“Besides, you’re an adult. I hope that you will ask for my help if you truly need it.”

Alfred coughed; Bruce glared at him. Diana sipped her tea.

Later, once the souffle had been appropriately demolished--if neatly so by all three parties-- Diana shooed Alfred from the kitchen and roped Bruce into helping her wash up. When Alfred conceded, Bruce simply stared at the older man, mouth agape, until the door was shut behind him.

“Here.” Diana passed him a dish to dry and while they got rid of the evidence of the souffle’s demise, she invited him to join her in volunteering tonight at one of the smaller Gotham City shelters for the homeless run by a group of Catholic nuns, preparing and serving a meal among other anonymous citizens.

“If you’d prefer not to go or you don’t have time,” Diana said, with a hesitancy that surprised Bruce, “then I understand. But if you do, then Zatanna said she would keep an ear to the ground out in Gotham until you return.”

Bruce thought for several long moments about it as they washed and dried dishes. (“Why run the dishwasher for so few?” Diana had reasoned, to Alfred’s delight. The older man bit back a comment about obtaining video footage.)

After a long moment of silence, Bruce said, “Alfred told you, then, about what I used to do with my parents.”

Diana didn’t deny it. “Of course! He loves to talk about them, and they sound like truly good people.”

“You can’t replace them, Diana, you know that.” He couldn’t manage to keep the sharpness from his tone and regretted it.

Diana simply nodded in agreement. “You’re right, I cannot, and I do know it. But I thought perhaps that you and I could honor their memory together, and in doing so, be a different kind of hero for someone tonight. A quieter, smaller kind.”

Bruce thought of his parents; he decided they’d have loved Diana as recklessly as most who crossed her path.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

“I’m glad,” she replied.

From the dining room doorway, Alfred smiled, pleased as punch.

The press didn’t get wind of their outing as the nuns didn’t seem to be starstruck by him at all, only made sure he lifted all the heavy things. At least one novice, however, managed to recognize Diana, who’d only conceded to fake glasses and a baseball cap for a half-hearted attempt at disguise. Bruce had watched, enraptured, as she whispered to the young novice, “It is I who should be thanking you, my sister. I am serving here tonight, but you are serving here always. You are my hero.”

And after so many souls, who didn’t look much different from the desperate people he sometimes helped into law enforcement custody, thanked him for the meal and for spending Thanksgiving with them, Bruce even found himself responding back, learning some of the guest’s names, and listening to their stories.

On the way home, he’d wondered aloud if all of the stories of misfortune he’d heard all night were true. Diana, who he considered an expert in truth, said, “Whether or not the story is real, the suffering always is.”

XXX

After Thanksgiving, Bruce often joined Diana and Alfred for breakfast if he could; in the beginning, he merely sat and sipped his tea and watched them cook or prepare whatever dish had struck a fancy; as the ritual continued, Diana began to solicit suggestions from him and asking about things he loved or wanted to try. And though it shouldn’t have surprised her, considering his upbringing and his butler’s skill, Diana hadn’t expected Bruce to take her requests so seriously or to suggest dishes from so many different cultures. Considering how new she still felt to patriarch's world, as she still thought of it, she loved the opportunity to try many new things.

Some mornings, Bruce couldn’t join them-- he had to run off to Wayne Enterprises for something or another. But when that didn’t happen, he showed. Sometimes still freshly bandaged or so exhausted, Diana wondered if he should be in bed, but he showed. And as December passed them by, Diana began to ask about the different winter holidays she’d heard about and the various traditions associated with them.

“Will you put up a Christmas tree, for example? Do you both practice Christianity?”

After a glance at Bruce, who merely grunted, Alfred said, “Ever since Master Dick moved to Bludhaven, we haven’t done much decorating. But considering we have guests this year, it could be time to change that. And since you asked, my dear, I’ve been a practicing Anglican for my whole life.”

Bruce answered, without heat, “I don’t believe in any god.”

Diana smiled and said, “In my experience, only a few would be worth it.”

Shortly after this conversation, Diana was called out to help Superman with flash flooding in the Philippines. When she left to use the teleporter Bruce built in the basement, Bruce said to his butler, “I’ll go get a tree.”

Alfred’s brows rose, but he was a professional, so the movement was slight. “You will, sir?”

“Yeah, we’ll put it up in the library; you know how much time she spends in there.”

“Indeed, I do, sir.”

Bruce returned in an hour with a Douglas fir just tall enough for a star to fit at the top of it without brushing the ceiling, even once placed in the stand. He hung around long enough to choose the red and gold ornament set and white strings of lights and then fell asleep in one of the large reading chairs while Alfred applied his fastidiousness to the tree.

Bruce was still sleeping in the library when Diana returned, freshly showered and dressed in red plaid pajamas. She gasped a little when she saw the transformation the room had undergone in her absence. Bruce, who’d woken as soon as she’d opened the door, relished the sound.

XXX

As the days in December passed, both Diana and Bruce, unbeknownst to each other, solicited Alfred for advice about how to improve the celebration of Christmas for the other. Alfred, as usual, excelled at being of service. He directed them to various storage areas in the manor so that each could add more decorations to the house in rooms that the other favored, and dolled out suggestions for holiday activities with aplomb.

“Why, Master Bruce loved to watch the Christmas Story marathons when he was a child,” he told Diana on the morning of the 14th.” I believe we have a DVD copy upstairs if none of the streaming services are carrying it.”

And shortly after the celebratory chocolate and peppermint bread had been put in the proving drawer, Diana had dragged Bruce to their media room to insist that they watch it. Bruce made it past the tongue-and-light-pole scene so he could see Diana’s amused horror and then fallen asleep with his head bent on the couch just so to almost rest on her shoulder. Alfred, appeared moments later to whisper that he’d put the bread in the oven at the appropriate time and Diana wasn’t to move because he would mind the timer.

At that moment, Bruce’s head dropped fully onto Diana’s shoulder. She actually held her breath then met Alfred’s gaze with wide, amazed eyes.

“As I said, my dear,” he whispered, nearly as awed as the princess, “you are not to move.”

To Bruce, several days later once the Joker had been returned to his cell in Arkham after some kind of heist that had involved the deranged villian donning a Santa suit, Alfred suggested, “Her Royal Highness has commented to me that she loves to see the Christmas light displays when she goes to and from missions in the evenings. And she once said that she’d never tried ice skating.”

And so Bruce put a call in to Zatanna again, who agreed to be cover for Batman’s late start on patrol with too much smug satisfaction to suit him, and then recruited Alfred to drive them. The route took them several towns over, and on the way, they passed some of the most elaborate light displays. At one point, Diana even rolled down her window to take in the sight.

“It’s so beautiful! And it must have take them so long to put up, and the energy bill must be high!” she exclaimed.

“Families with means, like many of these, may consider it a gift to the community,” Bruce said. And he did not tell her that a portion of these light displays were his own, erected in honor of his mother, who always enjoyed driving them.

After about an hour and half, they reached a small plot of land where flashing lights and a dirt parking lot welcomed them. A local family, whose small pond froze over every winter, decided to monetize it and turn it into a local attraction for the rural community.

Here, while Alfred watched from the small cabin with a homemade--and very well-made if he did say so--hot cocoa in his hand, Bruce had the pleasure of watching Wonder Woman, Princess and Champion of the Amazons, tumble immediately onto her side when she first set her bladed feet onto the ice.

The few other skater’s who’d stopped to check on her continued on her way once her delighted laughter reached them. Bruce smiled, skated over to her and helped her back to her feet.

“This is much harder than people make it look!” she cried, but with exuberance.

“You can fly, in case you forgot,” he reminder her in a low voice. “You could have caught yourself.”

She huffed. “And risk your annoymity? Besides, it’s cheating.” She took his offered elbow with a warning that she might drag him down, and allowed him to provide some balance as she got used to the sensation of the blades and the ice.

And irritatingly soon, she was smooth on her skates, wondering aloud how fast she could go. Bruce watched, heart in his throat despite how irrational he knew his concern to be, as she took off and began to skate the pond as fast as she could manage. And she’d built up quite a head of speed when she finally wobbled and tumbled magnificently into a heap.

Bruce skated up to her, came to a smooth stop, and offered a hand. She was laughing again, with no embarrassment or pain, but sheer childlike glee.

“I’m not sure you’ve learned your lesson,” Bruce said, but he held out a hand anyway to help her up. And Diana promptly pulled him down into a heap with her. Limbs flailed until finally both reached a sitting position again. There was a moment of intense eye contact, when Diana reached out to move some of his hair back into place, and he let his own fingers drift up and run across the back of her hand.

Then a toddler plowed into them, laughter ensued, and the night went lightly on.

XXX

When Christmas Even arrived, J’onn deigned to join them at the breakfast nook and said, “Clark has invited me to his home for the holiday. I intended to say no in favor of solitude and volunteering to be on watch, but then he put his mother on the phone.”

Diana and Bruce nodded solemnly. “Mrs. Kent is like that,” Diana agreed with some awe.

At the counter, the butler flipped a vegetarian omlette for the princess. “You will be missed, sir,” Alfred said. “I took the liberty of packing some of the delicacies that you fancy into your bags, along with a pie that Diana and I made for you to take with you. Would you care for an omelette this morning?”

If a telepathic Martian could look surprised--or maybe puzzled-- J’onn did. “But I didn’t tell you--”

Bruce interrupted. “It’s best not to question how he knows things, J’onn.” This was said in a wry tone that--for Bruce, at least--was a broadcast of affection.

J’onn stared and despite the intense temptation Bruce could read in his eyes, didn’t attempt to listen into the butler’s thoughts. Instead, he simply answered, “Just eggs and cheese will be fine.”

When Bruce and Diana found themselves alone in the kitchen--yet again-- to wash up, he ventured, “I might be home late tomorrow morning-- I’m not sure what to expect on holiday nights. Sometimes it is very quiet; other times... not.”

Diana shrugged. “As long as Wally doesn’t call me in for a mission, I will be here. Alfred says we could have Christmas morning breakfast in the library with the tree!”

And she was so excited that he hoped every wannabe criminal would stay put at home with their families tonight so he could return as fast as possible.

From behind them, Alfred said, “As it was once customary in this house to open one gift on Christmas eve--and since I’ll likely be at Christmas morning mass when Master Bruce returns tomorrow-- here.”

He passed them both delicately wrapped boxes.

“Oh Alfred, you shouldn’t have! Your gift isn’t ready yet!” Yet, Diana tore into it with childlike eagerness (not with the fastidious attempts to save the paper that Bruce had expected) until she revealed an old, worn notebook.

“The gift is symbolic,” Alfred told her sheepishly, “as I’ll be wanting the physical book back once you’ve made your copies. This is my mother’s recipe book. I thought you could copy recipes you would like to keep or to try making together.”

Bruce’s mind turned with possibilities even as Diana gasped and pulled Alfred into a hug which he suffered with dignity--and probably, Bruce could see, delight.

“It is a beautiful gift, Alfred, thank you so very much. I look forward to copying the recipes and making them with you!” Diana was nearly moved to tears, and Bruce was surprised to discover his own throat was suspiciously thick. The butler bore it all with a stoicness that fooled no one but was accepted by everyone.

When his turn came, Bruce tortured Diana by opening his own gift from Alfred with frustrating slowness, even taking the time to fold the paper one it was removed. She fairly vibrated with impatience. Finally, he opened a gift box to reveal a beautiful and extremely expensive diver’s watch that Bruce had commented on due to his beauty and durability. Bruce’s eyebrows rose, and he looked up at his surrogate father in surprise.

Alfred’s kind smile belied his amused words. “Thanks to my generous salary, I am able to return your generosity in kind by giving you something I know you wanted but would never remember or care enough to buy for yourself.” His gaze turned intense then, and he said, “I hope it will remind you that time is limited, son, and that some things are worth doing sooner rather than later.

XXX

Christmas Eve passed quietly at Wayne Manor, as at least one of the occupants left the premises at various times to sneak out for last minute shopping. Diana, however, shut herself in her room for most of the day and that night, after spending hours in the kitchen while Alfred was in the Batcave, promptly fell asleep on the couch in the library waiting for Batman’s return from patrol.

He found her there just before sunrise on Christmas morning, in a pair of festive flannel pajamas, curled up on her side with her hands tucked under her chin. The sight nearly took his breath away, to the point where he actually sank to the floor next to the sofa, so that he could look at her, just for a moment, in the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights. He rarely saw her so still, and though she was often serious when she was awake, when she asleep... she looked almost sad.

And in that moment, Bruce realized that like him, she’d lost her family too. And unlike his own parents, Diana’s mother had chosen to leave Diana’s life when she banished Diana from Themyscira.

Anger and shame rippled through him but vanished in a moment when her eyes opened.

She blinked, sleepy, then murmured, “Merry Christmas, Bruce.”

“Merry Christmas, Princess.” He reached into his pocket where the long slender box box rested, lettings his fingers curl around it as Diana yawned and sat up.

“I’m glad to see you in one piece,” she said.

“I can handle myself.”

“I know you can; I am still glad when you haven’t had to work too hard at it.”

He chuckled. “I know the feeling, then.” Before she could think about that too much, he pulled out the slender box and presented it to Diana.

How he’d agonized over this! In the past, with other women who had deserved better, he’d simply asked Alfred to pick something out. But not Diana. And though she enjoyed pretty things, he knew she cared little about the monetary value of a thing or the name brand. Such things simply didn’t register in her mind. So instead, he’d decided to give away something precious to himself, knowing she, of anyone, would see its value.

As she opened the box, he rushed to say, “It was my mother’s.”

And then, the fountain pen, which sported faded finger marks from years of calligraphy on letters, envelopes, and invitations, took on its full meaning in Diana’s hands.

“She loved to write.” Bruce was babbling, knew he was, yet could not stop. “She wrote letters and journals and invitations and she did it all herself in the most beautiful script. I know you write things down too, so I wanted you to have it. She would have liked for someone to have it who would use it.”

Diana’s fingers closed protectively around the pen, and she held it to her heart. “It is a beautiful gift, Bruce. Thank you. I know what she means to you, and to have a piece of her, something she loved and used well.... thank you.”

And then, to his shock, Diana actually sucked in a trembling breath and swallowed nervously. With her free hand, she reached under her pillow and pulled out a thick and worn leather journal. The book trembled with her as she placed it into his hand.

“I know you like to learn things, Bruce,” she began, and her voice shook too, “so I wanted to give you this to read. I have been writing in it since I came of age. There are stories from my people, memories from my training, and my thoughts about your world since I first entered it. I have... I have been writing much more in it for the past few days. About you. And Alfred. And traditions like ice-skating and cooking.” Her voice cracked a little. “I know you like to know things; I want you to know me. Please. Read it.”

Bruce took the book and held it carefully, as if the pages were fragile crystal. He could find no words for such a gift, no words at all. He shifted to his knees and leaned forward, reaching for her her free hand with his. He grasped her fingers, then pressed them to his lips.

“Thank you, Princess. Thank you.”

The moment was so thick with things not yet said aloud that even Bruce--solid, stoic Bruce--broke and deliberately popped the tension by saying, “So what did you get Alfred?”

Diana laughed. “While he was in the Batcave assisting you by radio, I spent the entire time in the kitchen baking. When he next returns to the kitchen, he will find it absolutely covered with different types of bread that he’s taught me to make. I expect you will need to help him eat it so it doesn’t go bad.”

“Well, that’s no trouble. We can always call Wally if things get desperate.” Bruce rolled his eyes dramatically to emphasize the joke, and his gaze caught on something hanging from the ceiling. He froze.

“What is it, Bruce?” She squinted. “Is that some sort of plant up there?”

“Ah... yes. It’s called mistletoe.”

Diana wondered, “What is it doing hanging from the ceiling like that?”

Bruce grinned. “Well, there’s this tradition...”

And so, as ever, Alfred Pennyworth had known exactly what was needed.

THE END


End file.
